


The Conversation

by Dusty



Series: Conversations In The Car [12]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something needs to be said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She was on the phone when he returned that night, having what sounded like a very official conversation. His mind went to Mallory, and he tensed as he considered that she may be receiving information regarding his conduct; rather like the headmaster calling his mother. Then he giggled silently to himself. He hadn’t set a foot wrong, so even if it were Mallory, he couldn’t possibly be implicated in some wrongdoing. For once. 

Besides, Olivia Mansfield was not his mother. Far from it, even if she had liked to think so at some point. No. She was a woman. She just needed to be reminded of that now and again. 

He smirked. He’d enjoyed her bossiness, her domineering behaviour. Perhaps she needed to cling onto her previous life as M. Perhaps she really was dominant by nature. But something told James that wasn’t the whole story.

He heard her hang up, then stepped into the room. 

She looked crossly at him. “I take it you heard all of that?”

“Selective hearing,” he said casually. “I was deep in thought, as a matter of fact.” 

“Well don’t think too deeply. You might sprain something.” Her eyes danced as she said it. He wanted to indulge in the banter but something about her attitude riled him too much.

“No,” he said dangerously. Her smile disappeared and a question formed in her eyes. He fixed her with a stern look. “You don’t get to do that,” he said. “No more reducing me to a playboy.” 

She opened her mouth and closed it again, shifting on her feet. “I wasn’t…” she began. 

“Yes you were,” he stated, a little less severely. He approached her, his expression softening a little. “No games. Not tonight. No playing. Can you do that?” 

She was grinding her teeth, her face fixed bravely, but eyes wide. “Of course,” she said. It wasn’t convincing.

He stepped in closer but still gave her some distance, trying his best to exude harmlessness. “I just want to talk to you. Man to man.”

He grinned. She rolled her eyes and retreated to the bourbon, pouring them both a drink. “Very well,” she said. “Take a seat.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said graciously, overlooking her natural authority. It was rather charming, after all. He settled on her leather sofa and waited.

She handed him his drink and sat down opposite him in her favourite armchair, sitting matter-of-factly, legs uncrossed, learning forward intently with her elbows on her knees.

“Man to man,” she said, raising her glass to him and taking a good swig.

He smiled and did the same, before coming over quite self-conscious. He throat was mysteriously dry. He forced himself to look at her.

She was staring at him, her trademark frown dominating her face.

He swallowed with some difficulty. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I think you need some time off from playing your role as boss.”

Silence grew between them like a slow shockwave. He swallowed again, throat even dryer. “I think you’re clinging onto some old, and comfortable, behaviour that you believe defines you, when actually you have an opportunity to let it go.”

She remained silent and expressionless. He was certain she could hear his heart beating, because to him it was deafening. He inwardly cursed the fact he was so nervous about this. 

“Not all of it,” he added quickly. “Much of you remains brave, valiant, and a natural authority. But your relations with others – specifically me, needn’t be restricted to those old patterns of behaviour.” 

He was impressed at this point that she hadn’t said anything, though he couldn’t be sure that it wasn't because she was plotting his assassination.

He continued, feeling gradually more confident. “I don’t presume to know the woman you were in your private life,” he said gently. “But I’ve seen enough to know you have always been more than a leader. And I’d very much like to know the woman you are now, in your private life.”

His heart sank as the light caught the tears in her eyes. He stopped breathing for a moment as she spoke, voice laden.

“You do know her. Who do you think you’ve been sleeping with?” She sounded bitterly hurt.

“No!” he said suddenly. “That’s not what I meant. I know it’s you. I can see you… but it feels like a glimpse. Like you’re only showing me fragments of you.” 

She blinked her tears away and scowled at the floor, biting her lip. She turned the glass in her hands. 

He cleared his throat and took a shaky gulp followed by a deep breath.

“Olli,” he breathed. It was so tender she looked at him in wonder. “I feel like you’re hiding from me. That’s all.”

She was breathing fast. He could see her pulse in the rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t look sad, or angry, just quizzical and a touch wistful. 

Her voiced cracked a little as she spoke. “No-one’s called me Olli in years. It’s mum or granny, or M, or ma’am, or Dame Olivia or Ms Mansfield.” Her eyes scrutinised him for a moment. “Did you know to do that?”

“No,” he said honestly. “It just felt right.”

She gazed at him, quite taken aback, before shaking her head and draining her glass. “It’s hard to know whether to believe you sometimes. You seem so keen to get to me. Should I believe you didn’t work out how…”

“I didn’t,” he said firmly, with a trace of impatience. She looked at him sheepishly.

“I know,” she conceded. “I know you're telling the truth. I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “Finally,” he said.

“Finally what?” she said shortly.

He shrugged. “I’m starting to feel like we’re on equal footing. That I am finally talking to the woman rather than the legend.”

“That’s fresh coming from you,” she snapped. “OO Legend. The irony that you of all people would demand realism.”

She stood and crossed the room, folding her arms across her chest. She kept her back to him for a moment. 

James took a moment to register her words. Of course. She had every right to feel like that.

He stood. “What if I told you that I’ve been re-assigned? That without giving too much away, I will be based here in London for at least the next month.”

She turned. “Is it true?”

He blue eyes shone with sincerity. “Yes.”

She just looked at him, enjoying the truth of it. Her expression told him everything he needed to know.

“You know my job better than anyone,” he said. “You know what I’m capable of and what I’m best at. But you also know there’s a short life expectancy. It never bothered me before.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, slipping into her M voice, much to his amusement.

“Mallory and I have come to an agreement. My operations will be based predominantly in the UK for the time being, whilst still very much working for 6.”

“It was that mission, wasn’t it,” she asked softly. “Something happened to you.”

“I’m not retiring,” he said, voice clipped. “I could never do that. But without you to fake my test results, things are getting a little awkward.”

A marked petulance came over her and he chuckled. There she was – the mischievous girl inside the great woman.

“I didn’t fake them,” she said obstinately.

“No, you just lied outright.” His heart skipped as she came dangerously close to a pout.

He crossed the room to her, enjoying the upper hand. “So I’m local for the foreseeable future,” he said.

She looked up at him. “Good,” she breathed. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mild sub/dom themes/equality themes/intimacy issue themes/human nature, a chat and a cuddle. (Perfect night in, then).

He leaned in and kissed her – just one very sweet kiss. It had nothing of the urgency they’d known; the lust, the need, the desire. Just something unspoken, sealed with a kiss.

Feeling decidedly more assured, he caught her hand in his. “I haven’t finished speaking with you yet,” he said. “Come and sit down.”

He supressed a laugh as she glared daggers at him whilst visibly trying to bite her tongue, allowing him to lead her to her own sofa.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Feminism isn’t going to collapse just because I’m guiding the conversation for a few minutes.”

She resisted the urge to hit him and sat down with resignation.

He held her hands in his, and she started to feel like a child receiving a gentle admonishment. She felt utterly out of her comfort zone, whilst simultaneously feeling strangely comforted. _Stupid feelings_.

“Here’s what I think,” he said, practically boring into her soul. “You need to let go and can’t, because who you are is so tied up in who you were.”

“Bullshit,” she said immediately.

James tightened his grip on her hands and glared at her fiercely. “Are you seriously telling me that if I get fired tomorrow, you think I’d be able to swan off into the sunset with my deluxe golf set and a good paperback? Because we both know I could never let it lie. And we both know you can’t either.”

She hung her head. His thumbs were caressing hers as he kept his hold on her.

“This isn’t about you,” he continued. “It’s about what we do and how we get over it and you are not facing it. You’re avoiding it and you’re using me to do it. Nowhere else to put all your rage and helplessness.”

Her lip trembled and her face reddened. “ _Stop it_ ,” she said weakly.

He took his hand and placed it on her cheek. “I’m sorry. I want to help. I know you’re not helpless or redundant, and that you could have carried on running things for at least another…”

He paused as his good intentions met reality. She was well past retirement age. How long could she have run things?

His eyes met hers. “For at least another…”

“Oh shut up,” she murmured. “I’m not Methuselah. It couldn’t last forever. I didn’t do so badly.”

“Exactly,” he said warmly, holding her hands tightly again. “Which is why you should enjoy your freedom now. Even if that does mean the fucking gardening club.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Or fucking the gardening club.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said in a warning tone. 

“Why not?” she provoked. “I’m free.”

He scowled at her. “ _Olivia_.” He spoke in a deadly voice that sent chills down her spine.

All the while his eyes were twinkling. “I have an idea,” he said steadily. “It involves you letting me take care of you.”

She huffed. “I’m not a geriatric.”

“I don’t mean like that,” James said impatiently. “I mean take care of you, like you’ve taken care of me. I mean, let me run things.” 

To his relief, she didn’t recoil in horror. She was regarding him silently, but didn’t appear too surprised at his suggestion, as if it had been inevitable all along.

“For one week,” he said. “Or one evening at first, if it helps.”

“You just want me to be one of your girls,” she snorted, radiating indignation.

“No,” he said seriously. “It’s not about that.”

“You think the only reason I’m powerful and successful is because of the job. You’re waiting for me to crumble into bingo and knitting patterns, aren’t you?”

“No!” he said, he voiced raised slightly. “Stop being so bloody difficult.” 

“Or what? You’re going to dominate me, are you?” 

“Would that be so bad?” he asked. “As an agreement, if only for an hour? Can’t tell you how peaceful it can be…”

She glared back at him. He wanted to be sure it wasn’t part of an act, her being defiant, but too much was at stake.

He sighed. “If you hate the idea then fine. I just thought it would give you an opportunity to switch off. To learn to trust someone and something else. And I’m not talking about whips and chains and dungeons. I’m talking about you letting me take you by the hand. Like you did at Skyfall.”

He studied her. She was unreadable.

He added softly, “I want us to explore more ways to be together than you being in charge all the time.”

She took a deep breath, and he realised she was caressing his hands now. He glanced at her. She seemed far away.

“Why won’t you let me treat you like a woman?” he said suddenly.

She shot a look at him. “What the hell do you mean? You think I wear the trousers, is that it? Why shouldn’t a woman wear the trousers?”

“I don’t think it’s healthy for anyone to wear the trousers 100% of the time,” he replied. “I know I like to take mine off as often as possible.”

She laughed in spite of herself then smiled at him warmly. “I love you being incorrigible,” she said.

“Ditto,” he said kindly.

She sighed. “Point taken. You want more balance. You want me to be more available instead of hiding behind the role of ‘Mistress’.”

He wriggled with a small moan. “Yes. Though ‘Mistress’ is welcome any time.”

“She’d better be.” She gazed at him soulfully for a long moment.  “I’d love you to,” she said simply. “If you think you’re man enough for the job.”

His mouth fell open. She was agreeing to his terms. He grinned.

“Just to explore things,” she said. 

“Yes,” he agreed, kissing her hand. “With plenty of even conversation in the middle. And no hiding.”

“Very well. Don’t cock it up,” she warned, eyes cool. “Safe word is bourbon.”

“Naturally,” said James, reclining on the sofa and stretching his arms out. “Now come here.”

She fought the instinct to be sarcastic, sly or just fundamentally hostile and edged towards him. He could see how difficult it was for her. She trembled as she leant in to him and rested her head on his chest.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, cradling her. “I’ve got you.”

She swore inwardly as she felt her heart pounding in her chest, giving her away, but soon became aware that hers wasn’t the only one beating out a terrified rhythm. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and after a long moment, allowed her eyes to drift closed.


End file.
